The Krimson Traitor
by SoranMBane
Summary: Mossflower country now finds itself in a terrible struggle against the forces of the Krimson, mysterious red-furred beasts from across the sea. But there's more to the Krimson than it might first seem, and to combat this strange threat, an equally strange champion will be called on: The cynical warrior fox Nihil, who must betray his masters and learn the true meaning of heroism.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

 _Though Castle Sarim was only half-built, it was already shaping up to be an impressive, sprawling structure, and Prince Azrahai often became lost within its grey stone halls whenever he needed to get somewhere. It was nearly morning when he finally found his father's study._

" _Father?" The younger creature peered around the study door to see his father, Regent Zenik, reading a heavy tome from his favourite chair. Zenik glanced up from his book, slight concern showing in the dark eyes behind his crystal glasses._

" _What is it, my son?"_

 _Azrahai stepped into the study, still working out the best way to say what he came to say._

" _I think I… You know a couple seasons back, when you talked to me and Nezari about the Krimson dreams? I… I just had one."_

 _Zenik gave his son a careful look, curiosity now plain in eyes as he folded his book closed and set it aside._

" _Is that so? Then I suppose you'd better take a seat and tell me what you dreamed."_

 _Azrahai took his place in a small, finely-crafted wooden chair across from his father's large plush one. He let his gaze linger on the scholarly clutter of his father's study; books lined the shelves along the walls in an ordering system that only his father could decipher, scrolls and papers formed haphazard heaps on every available surface, the massive oaken work desk was marked by countless ink stains where used quills had been left lying or ink wells tipped over in error. Azrahai had hoped the familiarity of it all would help put his mind at ease. It didn't._

 _Zenik cleared his throat to regain the younger creature's attention. "So, what was this dream?"_

 _Azrahai's eyes turned to meet his father's. "It was… my death."_

"… _You're certain that's what the dream was about?"_

" _I died in the dream."_

" _Hmm. I think you'd better tell me exactly what happened."_

 _Azrahai's eyes went back to searching the room; this was the part he had been dreading. He slumped back in his chair, let out a tired sigh as he collected his thoughts, and began the tale._

" _Well, it was night, and I was at the top of one of the castle's upper towers, dressed in light armor, and carrying a sword and shield. I felt as if I were many seasons older than I am now. Below me, all I could see and hear was chaos; ships burning in the harbors, creatures fighting on the piers, in the castle, and in the skies. It was the middle of a war. A war I could feel we were losing."_

" _A war against whom?"_

" _I'm not certain, but I have to assume they were Mossflower country natives. Rebels, maybe."_

" _Makes sense. We've certainly made enough enemies since we came here, and we'll likely make many more in the seasons to come. Please, continue."_

" _Well, as I said, there was fighting going on all around me, but my attention wasn't on that, it was on the sky and the moon that hung there. It was full and bright yellow, like a harvest moon. Looking at it seemed to fill me with an intense rage, as if the moon itself had committed some unforgivable crime against me. But there was something else in the sky with that moon, a streak of silver, like a shooting star or a comet, and the sight of it seemed to replace all my anger with fear and regret."_

" _Regret for what?"_

" _I am not sure. But it felt as if… as if all this chaos was somehow my fault, as if it was_ my _actions that had arrayed this moon and star against me. All I knew for certain was that it was far too late to change my fate now. Then the star plunged down out of the sky, straight towards me, like a bolt from some celestial crossbow. I tried raising my shield to protect myself, but it did nothing; the star pierced the wood and metal as if it was made of parchment. The pain was… awful, like a shard of ice tearing through my chest. As my vision started to dim, the last thing I could see clearly was an image of that yellow moon, hung in a cloudless, starry sky. And then I woke up, shivering and soaked with sweat. I left my chambers to find you as soon as I'd managed to calm myself."_

 _The two creatures sat together in the flickering candlelight, the younger one attempting to suppress the shudders that were now threatening to overtake him, while the elder contemplated the tale he had just heard. As the moments stretched on, the silence started to become oppressive to Azrahai, until he could no longer stand it._

" _Father, what does it mean?"_

 _Zenik shot his son a somewhat reproachful look. "Patience, my son. Interpreting our dreams is no simple matter. Whatever meaning they might hold is often couched in allegory and abstract symbolism, and it can be difficult to see what details are important and what events should be taken at face value without first examining them very carefully."_

" _I… my apologies. Please take as much time as you need."_

 _Zenik's expression softened. "It's quite alright. I can see you are deeply troubled by this, and it is only natural for young creatures to lack patience when they are troubled." He rubbed the white fur of his chin thoughtfully. "As a matter of fact, since this was your dream, it would probably be best if you were a part of the process. So tell me, do you have any ideas about what your dream means?"_

 _Azrahai pondered the question for a moment before answering. "Well, I believe that the moon in the dream represents some other creature, an enemy I'll have to face in my future. I haven't a clue what the star means, though."_

" _Hmm, I may have an idea. If the moon does indeed represent an enemy you will face, then it stands to reason that this enemy would wield some weapon against you, correct?"_

" _I suppose. But how is a shooting star a weapon?"_

" _I've heard stories, legends really, about creatures that followed the paths of shooting stars, only to find a lump of metal where they'd fallen. This metal could then be used to craft weapons finer than anything that can be made with earthly materials. If there is any truth to those legends, then perhaps this dream meant to tell you that your future enemy will wield such a weapon?"_

" _So that's it, then? I'm fated to be killed by a creature wielding a star weapon?"_

" _Not necessarily. Prophecy tells only what_ could _be, and nothing more. Creatures always have choice."_

" _Then what choices should I make to avoid this? I still don't understand."_

" _That is not for me to say. Were there no hints about what led to this outcome in the dream?"_

" _I don't… well, maybe. The rebellion. Maybe that's what the dream was meant to warn me about, that if the Krimson continue down our current path, it'll only lead to rebellion and my death."_

" _Would you suggest abandoning our mission only to save yourself?"_

" _I… of course not. But if the events of my dream hold true, it won't just lead to my death; the Krimson will fail here completely. It's already starting to crack; we've had to go to more extreme measures than ever before to keep these creatures under control, and they just get more restless the more we tighten our grip. We've barely made any progress pressing south for the last three seasons. Maybe this region is just too wild to ever be tamed."_

 _Zenik leaned back into his chair with a tired sigh. He spent a few long moments with his eyes closed, seemingly lost in thought, before he finally spoke again. "Perhaps. But even if we are fated to fail, we must still try. It is noble to give one's life for a greater cause, even if it is ultimately a hopeless one."_

 _Azrahai stayed silent for a time, before finally responding with simply, "I… understand."_

 _Zenik shook his head at that. "No, you clearly have objections. Tell me what's on your mind, son. Don't worry about disappointing me."_

" _It just seems… pointless to waste our time and resources on a hopeless endeavor, when we could be focusing our energy on something that will succeed."_

" _A very practical concern, but this isn't a matter of practicality, it's a matter of doing what's right. The creatures of this world are like children. They will not civilize themselves, so it is up to the Krimson to force them to become civilized, and thus build a better future for them all. It is a difficult task, but it would be an impossible one if we simply gave up every time our success became uncertain."_

" _Am I to ignore my dream then?"_

" _Not quite. A Krimson's dreams are a powerful tool, which has guided our family through countless hardships. But the dreams are just that; one tool, and you should not let them rule you completely. Just as a ship's navigator would risk sailing in circles for the rest of his seasons if he relied on only one of his instruments, Krimson will risk succumbing to paranoia and madness if they rely solely on their dreams. So, by all means, heed your dream and the warning it holds, but do not let fear of that potential fate consume you or sway you from the right path."_

 _As Azrahai sat pondering his father's words, Zenik rose from his chair and began rifling through the clutter under his writing desk, muttering under his breath as he did so._

"… _Know I had it here somewhere…"_

" _Did you need some help, father?"_

" _Oh, no, I was just… ah!" Zenik beamed triumphantly as he pulled a dark glass bottle from its hiding place. "Just looking for this little beauty. Nothing like a good cup of blackberry brandy to put one's troubles at bay, eh?"_

 _Azrahai couldn't help but give a slight smile as he watched his father pull a couple of ceramic cups down from one of the shelves. While Zenik was normally a wise, dignified creature, he became like a child with candy when it came to fine drinks. Azrahai gratefully accepted one of the filled cups, and sat warming the brandy in his paws for a while before taking the first sip. Azrahai had to shudder slightly as the warmth of the drink seemed to spread through his body like liquid wildfire. The first time he'd tried brandy as a child, the strength of it had sent him into a fit of violent coughing, so he took the shuddering as an improvement._

" _Do you feel better, my son?" Zenik posed the question as he settled back into the plush embrace of his chair._

" _Ye…" Azrahai's response was cut short by a violent coughing fit, caused by a wayward drop of brandy. So much for 'an improvement'…_

 _Zenik chuckled knowingly as he reached over to pat his son's back. "Don't worry; it becomes easier to swallow in time."_

" _Does it really?" Azrahai's voice was low and hoarse. "Are you talking about the brandy or the dreams?"_

 _Another chuckle at that. "How perceptive of you. Yes, the brandy does provide a ready metaphor, doesn't it? Both are, after all, as intrinsic a part of our heritage as our red fur, both of them can bring pain as much as comfort, and both can destroy you if you allow yourself to become too obsessed with them."_

 _As Azrahai was carefully considering another try at his brandy, he was again interrupted, this time by the alarm signaling morning light. The alarm was the result of one of the coyote guards howling through a huge metal cone, amplifying the cry into a long, mournful dirge which was used to mark important events and the time of day. It was a sound that never failed to make his blood run cold._

" _I don't suppose you got very much sleep last night."_

 _Azrahai shook his head. He'd woken from his dream just after midnight, and had spent the rest of the night either regaining his composure or searching the castle for his father's study. His father's remark only reminded him of how truly tired he felt._

" _Well, once you've finished your drink, I'll call a guard to bring you to your quarters. You can take the rest of the day to sleep; no need to go to your studies."_

" _Thank you."_

 _Azrahai quickly, but carefully, drained the contents of his cup. Once Zenik was sure his son would not fall victim to any more sudden coughing fits, he drained his own cup. Setting the empty vessel aside, he pulled the gilded bell rope located near his seat to summon the guard. Several more moments passed before there was a knocking at the study door, followed by the ever-sarcastic tones of the coyote standing outside._

" _Do you require some assistance, Regent? Or were you just lonely?"_

" _Assistance, if you would be so kind, Kotsill."_

 _The door swung open, and the grey and brown furred Kotsill entered the room, swaggering and smirking as coyotes were wont to do, red militia cloak and short-shafted glaive both worn on his back in the most calculatedly careless fashion._

" _Assistance with what, my Regent?" Kotsill accompanied his question with a theatrical bow._

" _I'd like you to escort my son to his quarters."_

 _The coyote looked Azrahai over with a raised eyebrow and one ear cocked to a jaunty angle. "Tucking the boy in, eh? Would you like me to read him a bedtime story as well, Regent?"_

 _Zenik merely chuckled. Coyote sarcasm was nigh-on impossible for members of the species to tone down, even when speaking to creatures to whom they owed their loyalty. So, where other leaders might tend to take offense, the Krimson had largely learned to suffer the insolent remarks of their underlings in good humor._

" _That won't be necessary, Kotsill. Just make sure he gets to his room safely and isn't disturbed for the rest of the day."_

" _As you command, Regent." Kotsill gave another exaggerated bow. After straightening up, he proceeded to slouch against the doorframe, staring at his claws as if inspecting a manicure. He let a few moments pass before glancing at Azrahai again. "Well, you coming? I've got better things to do than babysit princes all morning."_

 _After taking one last look at Zenik and receiving a fatherly smile in return, Azrahai rose from chair, teetering slightly against the effects of the brandy. Wordlessly, he set his own empty cup next to his father's, and followed Kotsill out of the room and through the twists and turns of the castle's lonely corridors. Thanks to the coyote and his uncanny memory, the trip back to Azrahai's quarters was significantly quicker than the one he'd originally taken to get to his father's study. Arriving at his door, Azrahai said a curt farewell to Kotsill, entered his spacious room, and fell gratefully upon his bed's feather-filled mattress. He was asleep within minutes._

 _While the aftermath of the dream continued to haunt Azrahai for a while yet to come, its hold over him would eventually fade. The counseling of his father, combined with the arrival of other comparably troubling dreams, served to weaken its impact. The moon and star that had originally caused Azrahai such distress were eventually buried in his memory, and would not again enter his thoughts in such force for many seasons._


	2. Chapter 1

**Book One: A Soldier Is Made**

" _Even in creatures whose hearts are filled with light from birth, sometimes that light can burn too strongly. It flares, scorches all in its path, and eventually goes out altogether, leaving only a darkness indistinguishable from that of the evilest vermin." ~ ******_

 **Chapter 1**

Vatcha wasn't sure how many hours she'd spent sitting in that oak tree, but her attention never once strayed from her prey. The object of her interest was a small, run-down village near the foot of the Northern Mountains, which currently played home to a sizable population of foxes. Aside from the poorly-maintained wooden huts, a slightly-better-maintained cobblestone longhouse, and the occasional makeshift tent or lean-to, the only structure of note was a derelict old mine built into the side of the rocky hill that bordered the village's north-eastern edge. Vatcha couldn't tell from her vantage point what sort of metal the mine might be for, but she'd seen enough of the foxes going in and out to know that it was still being used.

Somewhere around midday she finally decided that she'd seen enough, and began gathering her few possessions; the red-stained longbow and quiver tucked against the trunk at her back, and the small haversack hanging from the branches above her head. Securing everything across her shoulders, she descended from her perch, sure and silent as a shadow, and went to work.

* * *

It had been an unusually good few weeks of raiding for Kagrel and his tribe, and the fox chieftain, in unusually high spirits, was hosting a feast in his longhouse to celebrate. It was a suitably chaotic, raucous affair, with the foxes enjoying good food and drink (to vermin palates, anyway), bawdy songs, rude jokes, and the occasional drunken brawl. The whole atmosphere was permeated by a strange, thuggish sort of camaraderie.

Chief Kagrel was leaning back in his chair, one footpaw resting carelessly upon the crowded feasting table and picking food scraps from his teeth with a shard of woodpidgeon bone. Like his underlings, he'd gorged himself, and had a thoroughly bloated stomach to show for it. After creating some room by letting out a loud belch, Kagrel decided that he was thirsty again. Throwing his bone shard at his son, a young silver fox sitting alone in one of the darker corners of the hall, Kagrel called out.

"Oi! Smutty, c'mere!"

Reluctantly, Smutty shuffled to the chieftain's side, seething with ill-concealed contempt the whole way. Kagrel picked up the earthenware cup he'd been drinking from earlier and shoved it roughly into his son's paws.

"Make yerself useful, _mudbrain_ , an' git me some o' that fancy wine."

With clenched teeth and a backwards glare, Smutty went about his father's command. As he walked by, another fox out for sport at the younger fox's expense stuck his footpaw out in Smutty's path. He didn't notice the cruel trick until it was too late for him to avoid, and tumbled down face first, hitting the hard stone floor with a pained yelp. Foxes all along the huge dining table turned their attention to the pitiful, whimpering black form lying on the floor, all of them apparently finding his misery thorougly entertaining. Half-stunned and nursing a badly bleeding snout, Smutty managed bring himself to a kneeling position.

Smutty shut his eyes against the pain. But it wasn't just his injured snout that hurt, or the shame, or even the laughter and jeering that now echoed all around him; it was his own impotence that hurt him most of all. The knowledge that he was too young and small to ever be able to stand up and make them _pay._

"Now lookit wot ye did, _idiot_. Yew went an' busted my cup!" Kagrel snarled, an unpleasant smile plastered on his face. He always took a special joy in tormenting his son.

Smutty looked over to the hardened clay shards scattered across the floor in front of him. For a moment, he could almost imagine himself picking up one of the sharper pieces and…

"Well, wot'r ye waiting for? Git up an' get me my drink!" Kagrel straightened up from his slouched position, his previous good humor now quickly fading into an all-too-familiar rage.

All vengeful thoughts shriveling at his father's drink-tainted voice, and with his left paw still clapped tightly over his bloody snout, Smutty tried his best to push himself upright. However, between his shaky state and blood-slick paw, he only succeeded in sliding back down to the floor.

"Arrgh!" Kagrel jumped from his chair, fuming. "Yew useless liddle _whelp!_ "

There was no way that Smutty could act in time to avoid what was coming, and he knew it, so he did the next best thing; curled into a ball and braced himself. The distinct metal hiss of Kagrel drawing his prized falchion from its sheath was the only sound to break the deathly silence that had descended upon the hall. With the sword raised above his head, Kagrel readied himself to strike with the flat of its broad blade...

But at that moment, the door to the longhouse burst open, flooding the dining hall with sudden sunlight. Merk, one of the tribe foxes who'd been assigned to sentry duty, came skidding to a halt in front of his leader, breathless and panting.

"B-boss. There's… somebeast 'ere…"

Kagrel gave him a venomous look. "Wot sort o' beast?"

"Some queer lookin' vixen. Waltzed right inta the middle o' camp like she owned the place. Didn't say 'er name, jus' that she wanted to see ya."

"And she's not dead?"

"Well… no. We didn't know wot to-"

Kagrel shoved his way past the sentry, sliding his sword back into its sheath on his way to the door. The matter of tormenting his son had evidently been forgotten. Merk was first to follow him out, but, slowly, the rest of the curious diners made their way outside, until the only creature left in the hall was Smutty.

Once he was certain that he was alone, Smutty went about the unsteady business of dragging himself over to the dining table and using it the pull himself upright. Overcoming his momentary dizziness, he searched along the table until he found a pitcher of water, which he used to wash most of the blood from his face. After drying himself and staunching any further blood flow with a nearby grubby rag, he followed the rest of his tribe outside; he too was curious about the mysterious stranger whose sudden arrival had saved him a beating.

Making his way to the place where his tribe was gathered, Smutty finally got a glimpse of the visitor. It was indeed a vixen, but not like any he'd ever seen before. Most of her fur was a combination of ashen grey and soft reddish-orange that made Smutty's silver coat (which was totally unique among his tribe) almost feel common and drab by comparison. Her face also bore a vaguely cat-like appearance, owing to an unusually short snout and a pair of thick black stripes running down her muzzle. She was very young too, perhaps only a few seasons older than the eleven-season-old Smutty. However, despite her youth, she carried herself with a calm self-assurance, and seemed unimpressed as Chief Kagrel paced menacingly in front of her.

"Are you in charge here?" the vixen asked.

"Aye, I am. Now why don't yew gimme one reason why I shouldn't chop ye t' mincemeat fer tresspassin', whelp." Kagrel pawed at his sword hilt to give his words more clout.

"Why, because I'm sure I'd be more use to you alive than dead. I wish to join your tribe." The vixen gave a stiff bow. "My name is Vatcha."

Kagrel spat contemptuously. "Hah! 'Join?' Wot could a pup like yew be good fer, eh?"

Vatcha indicated the red longbow slung across her shoulders. "I'm an archer. Surely you can always use more hunters?"

Kagrel narrowed his eyes. He didn't like this strange vixen or her arrogant demeanor, but she was right; decent bowbeasts were always in short supply among his tribe. Thinking on the matter for a few moments, Kagrel eventually came up with a solution that brought a slight smile to his face.

"Hmm. Mebbe I _will_ let ye join us. But first, yew gotta pass a test." Kagrel looked around at the crowd of onlookers. "Will somebeast grab that useless son o' mine an' bring 'im here?"

 _Oh no…_

Smutty tried to slip away, but he was spotted and grabbed almost immediately. Though he struggled as best he could, he was eventually dragged before his father by two thuggish male foxes.

"Lissin up, this is real simple; we'll tie my idiot son here up to one o' those trees over there…" Kagrel pointed to a group of young ash trees near the edge of the village. "An' we'll put somethin' on 'is head. If'n yew kin shoot it off from where yore standin', yew git to join our crew. If ye miss, then you'd better make yerself scarce before I kin draw my blade. An' if 'e dies, ye'll be put to death fer killin' my one an' only son. Sound good t' yew?"

Vatcha looked over the panicking young fox, and then back to Kagrel, her face a perfect mask of impassivity. "I can do that."

Once Smutty had been firmly bound to one of the trees, it was Vatcha who provided the target; a small red apple from her haversack.

"A little cliché, perhaps, but it should stay put as long as you don't wiggle too much." She spoke to Smutty conversationally as she was balancing the apple on his head. "And try not to worry; I'm not going to hurt you. Even if I did, you can take comfort in knowing that it would be my life on the line too."

She gave him a sly smile before turning on her paw and stalking back to her previous position, about eighty paces away. Unslinging her bow, she pulled the string back experimentally. Satisfied with its condition, she picked one of the red-fletched arrows from the quiver at her back, nocked it, and took aim. The crowd of foxes was utterly silent as they waited for Vatcha to make the shot.

Smutty had shut his eyes, so the next thing he knew was a loud _thud_ as the apple was torn from his head. Shaking uncontrollably, he carefully opened one eye and looked up to see the apple pinned to the tree above him, pierced perfectly through its center by Vatcha's arrow. Realizing that he'd been holding his breath the whole time, he let out a huge sigh of relief before looking back over to the place where Vatcha stood.

It was almost impossible to see the vixen through the mass of tribe foxes which had gathered to marvel at her bow prowess. He saw Kagrel give her a hearty pat on the back, laughing.

"Hahar! I ain't seen a shot like that in a long time! It looks like ye _will_ be worth keepin' around, then, eh?" He winked at her before turning his attention to the crowd of tribe foxes. "An' wot'r yew lot doin' still standin' around? The show's over, so git back to yer posts!"

After the tribe had dispersed, Kagrel turned back to Vatcha. "Ye'll be part o' the next huntin' party. Don't make me regret my sudden gen'rosity, or I'll tie yew up with that other whelp an' gut ye."

With that, Kagrel left Vatcha alone. Shouldering her bow, she walked over to the place where Smutty had been left tied up. None of the other tribe foxes seemed interested in letting him loose.

"Well, that was easy," she said casually, staring off in the direction Kagrel had taken. "You're not too popular around here, are you?"

Smutty looked away and shook his head.

"Good," she said as she unsheathed the small dagger that hung from the red cloth belt around her waist and cut his bindings with a few practiced strokes, "then you won't mind helping me with something kind of important."


	3. Chapter 2

After Smutty had rubbed the life back into his deadened limbs, Vatcha took him by the paw and led him to the outskirts of the village. Finding a secluded spot beneath the shade of a large oak tree, the two foxes sat down together.

"So what's your name, blackfur?"

"Err…" Smutty looked away sheepishly. "It's… Smutty."

"Should have known it was something like that," Vatcha remarked, chuckling. "Your daddy didn't exactly strike me as the most fatherly beast around."

"So… wot was it yew wanted 'elp with?" Smutty asked.

"Oh, I just need you to answer some questions about this place. You can manage that, right?"

"Yeah…"

"Good!" Vatcha leaned back against the tree. "First, can you tell me what that old mine is being used for?"

"Well, my dad has some slaves down there diggin' up iron."

"What sort of slaves?"

"Mostly the moles that used to live 'ere, an' a few other creatures my dad's raiders 'ave caught."

"And I suppose that iron is what was used to make those crude pig stickers most of your friends were wearing?"

Smutty nodded.

"And do they actually know how to use those weapons? Are they any good in a fight?"

Smutty felt his stomach twisting into an uncomfortable knot. The purpose of these questions was starting to dawn on him, and he wasn't sure whether he should feel afraid or not. "Well… sort of. If they can sneak up on their marks…"

"And what if somebeast surprised _them?_ Like, could they retaliate?"

"I… Vatcha, wot's goin' on?"

Vatcha only waved her paw dismissively. "Don't worry about that, it'll be fine. Just answer the question please."

After a few seconds of nervous fidgeting, Smutty answered. "Uh, prob'ly not. I'm pretty sure the only beast 'ere any good in a real fight is my dad."

"That's only when he's _sober_ , I assume?" Vatcha remarked in a mocking tone.

Smutty was surprised by the halting, uncertain sound of his own laughter; something he hadn't heard in a very long time. Catching himself, Smutty stopped to look around nervously, as if there might be some terrible consequence for his disrespect.

"Nobeast is here to be offended, sweetie."

"I know, it's just…" He trailed off, suddenly embarassed to even be talking about this.

"Just what?"

"Last time my dad caught me laughin' at 'im, well…" Smutty used a claw to lift up his top lip, revealing the jagged half of a broken fang on his left side.

Vatcha suddenly snatched Smutty's face into her paws. She began turning him, inspecting the damaged fang as if it were some interesting bauble. "Ooh. That looks painful."

Flustered, Smutty managed to pull himself out of the vixen's grasp. "Uhh… well, it isn't, really. Not anymore. Now, it only 'urts when I eat anythin' too sweet or cold."

"Hmm. I think I know something that can help." Vatcha pulled her haversack from its resting place and began rifling through its contents. A couple seconds later, she produced a small copper kettle and pushed it into Smutty's paws. "Do be a dear and fill this with water. I'll get a fire going while you're gone."

Baffled as he was, Smutty got up to do as he was asked. After he'd turned to walk away, he was startled by the sound of branches snapping above him. Looking upwards, he saw Vatcha perched in the oak tree above, collecting dead branches. He hadn't even heard her climbing.

"What?" Vatcha asked after she noticed him staring. "I'd get my paws dirty picking up wood on the _ground._ "

After watching the strange vixen for a few more moments, Smutty simply smiled, shook his head, and went back to the task of fetching water. Once he'd filled the kettle in one of the nearby streams of spring snowmelt, he returned to find Vatcha back on the ground, stoking a small fire. Two forked sticks had been planted into the ground on either side of the fire, with another stick laid across them to form a makeshift cooking spit.

"Ah, good." Vatcha looked up from her fire. "Bring it over here, please."

Taking back her kettle, Vatcha hung it from the spit and left it to boil.

"I've never seen a fox climb like that," Smutty commented as he was settling back down next to the fire. "'Ow'd yew do that?"

The vixen gave him a small smirk. "I'm a _grey_ fox, sweetie. Climbing is just something we're good at."

Seemingly satisfied with her fire, Vatcha began digging through her haversack again, pulling out a copper cup and a large cloth pouch. As she was unwrapping the pouch, Smutty presented her with a different question.

"So where're yew from?"

"Me personally?" Vatcha looked up from what she was doing. "I was born on the western coast. My parents are from… a bit farther west than that."

"From… the sea?"

"From across the sea." Vatcha took a small bound stack of thin cloth scraps out of her haversack and laid a piece flat on a nearby rock. "What about you? How come you're the only blackfur I've seen here?"

"Well, I got my fur from my mom. She died when I was little."

"How'd that happen?" Vatcha asked as she was began pulling pinches of crushed herbs from her pouch and piling them in the center of the cloth scrap.

Smutty shrugged. "All I know is she died when a raid along the path west of 'ere went bad."

Smutty watched as Vatcha took a spool of thin twine from her haversack, bit off a short length, and used it to tie up the cloth scrap she'd been piling her herbs onto. Once she was satisfied that it was secure, she placed the bundle inside her copper cup and set it aside.

"Wot's that?" Smutty asked.

"It's a tea bundle. Like, you do know what tea is, right?"

"Err, not really…"

Vatcha rolled her eyes and breathed an exaggerated sigh. "Well, it's not a complicated concept; just hot water flavored with plants. In this case, a mixture of herbs that ease pain, in case I get hurt out in the wild."

"So it's… medicine?"

" _Some_ teas are medicine. Others are just supposed to taste good."

"And is that all you 'ave in that bag? Jus'… tea?"

"Not quite. I do… Ah!" Vatcha's response was cut off as the kettle let off a sudden high-pitch whistle. Taking another scrap from the cloth stack, she used it to lift the kettle from its spit, and continued her thought as she filled the cup with boiling water. "As I was saying, I do have some snacks in here, and a few survival and tracking supplies, but otherwise… yeah, I do have quite a lot of tea and salves and stuff. Anything else I need, I could just forage myself."

Taking the cup into her paws using cloth as insulation, she passed the tea over to Smutty. "Now, let this cool for a while before you drink it. Can't imagine boiling water'll be any better for your tooth than cold water."

Smutty took a sniff of the concoction before pulling a face and turning his nose away. "That smells awful!"

"Well, like…" Vatcha shrugged. "It is probably a bit on the spicy side, but I promise you; drink that, and by this time tomorrow, things will seem a _lot_ brighter."

Yet again, something in Vatcha's tone was making Smutty uneasy. Stamping the feeling down, he did as he'd been instructed and waited until his tea was lukewarm before taking the first sip. Despite his initial impressions, he found the strong, spicy drink to be surprisingly palatable and drained it within seconds.

And so the two young foxes spent the rest of their afternoon lounging together, making small talk, cracking jokes, drinking tea, and eating the snacks from Vatcha's haversack. It was a sense of companionship that felt utterly alien to Smutty, but he relished every second of it, even as he knew full well that the vixen was using him for something.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to say goodbye," Vatcha said as dusk was falling. "I have some important business to take care of tonight."

"Oh..." Smutty made his best attempt at not looking or sounding too disappointed. "Maybe yew could… take me with? To wherever it is yore goin', I mean."

Vatcha stood up and shook her head. "I can't do that; it'd complicate things too much. But don't worry, we'll see each other again tomorrow."

After the two foxes had extinguished their fire with pawfuls of soil, they went their separate ways. Smutty returned to his father's longhouse, where the feast was thankfully long over and chief Kagrel was fast asleep. Vatcha headed west.


	4. Chapter 3

Azrahai sat alone sharpening one of his throwing knives - doing his best to banish a host of troubles from his mind with each stroke of the whetstone - when a sudden voice from the flap of his officer's tent broke his concentration.

"General?" The grey-brown head of a female coyote Guard poked its way through the tent opening.

"What is it, Raski?" Azrahai demanded, perhaps more brusquely than he'd intended.

"General, the Ranger has returned."

With a tired sigh, Azrahai put aside his whetstone, returned his knife to one of the ornate sheaths at his belt, and pushed himself to his footpaws. After securing the red cotton garments that concealed his face and tail from the common militia beasts, he stepped out into the cool night air.

"Where is she?"

"Sitting by the main fire, General," Raski replied. She was being uncommonly courteous for a coyote, no doubt in an effort to avoid souring her officer's already touchy mood.

Brushing past the Guard, Azrahai wound his way through the sleeping sprawl of the camp to the huge fire at its heart, where a young grey fox sat warming her paws.

"What do you have to report?"

"Hmm?" Vatcha turned to face her General. "Oh. We can take those foxes out any time. Tonight if you want."

"I'm in no mood for jokes, Vatcha."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not joking. They're nothing but a pack of low-level raiders. Just catch them by surprise with the force we have here, kill their chief, and they'll crack."

"You're certain?"

"As certain as I'll ever be." Vatcha could feel the doubt in Azrahai's stony silence. "Can't you trust me just this once, sir?"

"If I was fool enough to trust foxes on their word, I'd be trying diplomacy here instead of a surprise attack."

"Heh. Fair enough."

"So, where is this chief?"

"He's shacked up in the largest building in the village; a big, ill-tempered brute by the name of Kagrel."

"What sort of fighter is he?"

Vatcha shrugged. "I know he's got the only proper weapon I saw; like, some sort of chopping sword, though I don't know the type. Other than that, his son told me that he used to be a corsair at some point. He's a real nasty piece of work."

"His son?"

"Yeah, a young blackfur called Smutty. He gave me most of my information."

"And what information did you give _him_?"

"Nothing that he'd ever bring to the rest of them, if that's what you're getting at."

Azrahai breathed an exasperated sigh. "What does that mean, Vatcha?"

"It means that even if he does realize that something's about to go down, he won't lift a claw to stop it. He hates them all. He even wanted to come with me when I was about to leave."

"Hmm. A malcontent, then?" Azrahai looked off into the distance for a few moments, thoughtful. "How old was this fox?"

"Not sure, but he had to have been at least a couple seasons younger than me. Why, you thinking of, like, making him a Ranger or something?"

"I'll decide that when I meet him in the morning." Azrahai turned to walk away. "Raski!"

"Yes, General?" The coyote seemed to materialize at his side.

"Wake the soldiers and have them break camp. I want us to be ready to march before dawn."

"Yes, General!" Raski made a showy salute with her glaive before turning to carry out her orders.

"Oh, and Vatcha…" Azrahai addressed the young Ranger with a backwards glance, his eyes shining dully from the depths of his head scarf. "If this operation goes wrong in any way, it'll be on _your_ head. Do you understand, fox?"

Vatcha forced an uncomfortable smile. "Of course, sir."

"Good." Azrahai then motioned for the young fox to follow him. "Now come with me, I'll need a full debriefing of everything you learned."

Vatcha leapt nimbly to her feet, following the Krimson General to his tent. There would be a lot of preparations to make before morning.

* * *

Smutty was curled up in his bed – a grimy grass-stuffed mattress tucked into one of the lonely corners of the longhouse – dreaming his usual troubled and confusing dreams, when he was awoken by the sounds of chaos.

A chorus of screams, battle cries, and clashing weapons filtered in through the small shuttered windows of the longhouse. Alarmed now, Smutty sat bolt upright and quickly surveyed the room. He saw his father holding his ear against the dead-bolted longhouse door, sword drawn. Whatever was going on, it had woken Kagrel up just as suddenly as it had Smutty; the older fox still looked groggy and muddled from the night before.

Almost as quickly as it had begun, the din quieted down. Soon, the only sound that could be heard outside the longhouse was the distant moaning of injured creatures. Just as the silence was threatening to become oppressive, the door suddenly shuddered inward against its deadbolt as somebeast on the other side tried to forcefully shove it open. Whoever it was gave the door a few more hard shakes before finally giving up. A calm, commanding voice called out from the other side.

"Open the door, Kagrel; you've already lost."

Kagrel backed up a couple paces, holding the side of his head where the shuddering door had struck him. "Ha! I bet yew _wish_ I was that stupid!"

"This is your only warning, fox; you can open the door and surrender, or you can face a summary execution here and now."

"I'd like t' see ye try it, rockbrain. Yer fancy words won't git yew through that door."

The only thing that greeted Kagrel's response was more silence. Whatever the creatures outside the door planned to do next, it didn't involve bandying words with a bandit chief. Realizing that he was still sitting in his bed, Smutty began to shakily pick himself up…

 _CRASH!_

Only to fall backwards again in surprise as something heavy slammed into the door. The aged wood showered splinters from the blow, and the rusty iron deadbolt keeping the door locked was visibly bent.

 _CRASH!_

Morning sunlight filtered through the large crack created by the second blow. Kagrel backed as far away from the door as the dining table behind him would allow, his sword held in front of him like a ward.

 _ **CRASH!**_

The deadbolt finally gave way, and the broken door lurched violently inward on loose hinges. The silhouettes of the creatures holding the battering ram shuffled out of the way as soon as the door caved in, carrying the ram with them and allowing their leader to enter the doorway alone.

It was impossible to tell what sort of creature he was; a red scarf made from some sort of thin, soft cloth made sure of that, and even his tail was obscured by a red cloak-like garment. Only his rust-red fur and bright white underbelly gave any sort of clue as to his species. Stepping past the broken door frame, the red-furred creature held Kagrel's gaze for what seemed like an eternity.

It happened so quickly that Smutty almost didn't comprehend at first. One moment Kagrel and the red creature were sizing each other up, but the next… The red creature's paw shot out from his side, and Kagrel dropped his sword to clutch at the red-gripped throwing knife that now sprouted from his throat. With a strangled sound that might have been a scream, Kagrel fell to his knees, still pawing at the knife as if he wasn't quite sure whether to pull it out or not.

The red creature stepped closer, a second knife in his paw, while Kagrel could only stare on with wild, pleading eyes. Grasping the fur of Kagrel's head with his free paw, the red creature stabbed viciously into the fox's midriff. Leaving the knife lodged in its victim, the red creature let Kagrel slide to the floor. He watched as the fox chieftain bled to death, an air of aristocratic disdain plain even through his scarf.

Once he was certain the fox was dead, the red creature seemed to finally notice Smutty huddled in the corner. Picking up the fallen falchion and recovering its sheath from Kagrel's corpse, he carried the weapon across the hall, stopping a few paces in front of the wide-eyed young fox. He took a few moments to look Smutty over before speaking.

"That beast was your father, was he not?" The red creature used the falchion to point in the direction of Kagrel's body. "What do you feel now that he's dead?"

"I… um…" After taking a few seconds to calm himself, Smutty answered truthfully. "I'm… grateful."

The red creature seemed to nod at his response. He then held the blade of the falchion before his face, as if inspecting its quality.

"This is a fine weapon," he commented, tilting the blade in the light to watch his reflection on its near-scratchless surface. "Too fine for the sort of creature your father was. Do you feel that you'd be better suited to hold this blade?"

Smutty rose unsteadily to a standing position. "Y-yes."

"And would you pledge to only use this blade in service to the Krimson Empire?"

Smutty wasn't entirely sure what the red creature meant by "Krimson Empire," but his answer came more certain than the last one. "Yes."

Sliding the falchion into its sheath, the red creature passed the weapon to Smutty. "Then I, General Azrahai of the Krimson, present you with this weapon. I also gift you with a new name, as befitting an imperial soldier; from now on, you will be called 'Nihil.'"

Speechlessly, Smutty – no, _Nihil_ now – took the proffered blade into his paws. The whole affair felt like a dream to him, even as he was passed on to a tall grey-brown foxlike creature and led outside. His father was dead, the sword was his, he had a new purpose as a soldier, and he even had a better name; it all seemed too good to be true.

Blinking in the morning sunlight, Nihil followed the foxlike creature to the center of the village, where the surviving members of his tribe had been herded together. A familiar voice called out from behind him.

"Hey there!" Before he could turn around, Vatcha had thrown her paws across his shoulders in a friendly embrace. "I see you've got a toy. Did you get a new name too? That seems like something the happy General would do."

"I… Uh, I'm Nihil."

"Ooh, nice and intimidating." Vatcha chuckled. "See? Didn't I tell you things would seem brighter?"


	5. Chapter 4

After Raski had led the young fox away, Azrahai elected to stay behind and inspect the longhouse interior. It was not the sort of structure one would expect to play home to bandits. Filthy and ill-repaired as it was now, it was still clear that it had been built by expert craftsbeasts, and he imagined that once, long ago, the building could have been described as 'homey.' Most likely, it had been used for village gatherings and celebrations.

As Azrahai was idly looking over the huge dining table, one of his soldiers approached and presented him with his knives; both thoroughly cleaned of fox blood.

"'Ere's yer knives, boss."

Azrahai looked the soldier over as he took back his weapons. She was a tough-looking ferret, her face marked with the remnants of colourful tribal tattoos. From her accent, there was little doubt that she was one of the local conscripts his father had recruited a few seasons back, and mere blade fodder at that.

"What's your name, ferret?"

"It's Fethra, boss."

"Well, Fethra…" Azrahai sheathed his knives as he spoke. "My rank is ' _general_ ,' not 'boss.' You can either call me that, or call me 'sir.' Understood?"

"Err…"" Fethra faltered under Azrahai's hard tone. "Unnerstood, _gen'ral_."

"Good." Azrahai waved his paw dismissively. "Now, go report to whichever officer you're supposed to be serving under; I want to be alone."

After the ferret had hastily backed out of the longhouse, Azrahai let out another tired sigh. _I've been doing a lot of sighing lately_ , he thought absently as he leaned against the cluttered dining table.

Indeed, a lot had happened in recent seasons to wear on the Krimson General's mind; his sister's disappearance, his father's recent illness, and Shiril…

Azrahai shook the thoughts out of his head. There was still work to be done here, even as decisive as the victory had been. He would need a clear mind in order to lead properly. Pushing himself away from the table, Azrahai took one last look around the longhouse before stepping back outside.

By now, the dim morning light was beginning to give way to the clear blue skies of a fresh spring day. Azrahai looked north, towards the center of the village, where his officers were gathering the captured foxes – what appeared to be about a score-and-a-half creatures altogether. There, Raski and another younger coyote guard named Haskil were pacing around the prisoners, while the vermin soldiers under their command stood by, watching the prisoners like hawks. Likewise, from its perch atop one of the nearby wooden huts, an _actual_ hawk sat watching the proceedings with unblinking bronze-coloured eyes. Occasionally, foxes could be seen to steal visibly nervous glances at the bird and their captors.

The only tribe fox that didn't appear to be frightened or upset was the young silver that Azrahai had so recently named Nihil, who sat chatting amiably with Vatcha. When he noticed Azrahai watching from across the distance, the fox's eyes turned up towards him…

And Azrahai's breath caught in his throat. Those eyes… he'd seen them in the dark of the longhouse, but he hadn't truly noticed them. Out here in the daylight, the soft golden yellow seemed to flash across the space between them, filling Azrahai's mind with a confusing and inexplicable sense of dread. Self-awareness kicked in quickly, transforming the fear into mere confusion and embarrassment. What was wrong with him?

"Mon Seigneur?"

It took a strong effort for Azrahai to not jump in surprise. Turning around to face the speaker, Azrahai found himself silently thankful for his face-concealing scarf; at least nobeast had to see how off-balance he was.

"Yes, Didier?" Azrahai made his best attempt at keeping his voice even as he addressed the bulky beaver engineer who'd startled him.

"Was there anyting you wanted doing aboat here, eh?" Didier rapped his flat tail on the ground to punctuate his question.

"There was." Azrahai pointed north-east, towards the mine. "When the troops are done scouring the mine for creatures, you'll be taking an escort through to do a proper inspection. I want to know what shape it's in and how to get it running properly again. If the mine has any real value left, I plan to leave you, Raski, and a small contingent of our soldiers to garrison this place and oversee the mining operation."

After the beaver had made his salute and shuffled off, Azrahai allowed himself yet another quiet sigh. He looked over to Nihil, who had returned to his conversation with Vatcha. What in those eyes had caused him to choke like that?

 _You're just jumpy from all this stress, Azrahai. Nothing to waste time worrying about._

Hoping dearly that that was true, Azrahai walked over towards the place where the prisoners were gathered. Stopping about twenty paces off, he signaled until he caught Raski's attention.

"You wanted me, General?" the coyote called out as she trotted up.

"Yes; I need a report of what we've gained here."

"Well, sir, we seem to have won ourselves some very lovely filthy hovels."

Azrahai crossed his arms, annoyed. "Don't start this with me, Raski."

"My apologies, sir." Raski threw her paws up apologetically. "I just thought you'd be in a better mood for jokes, is all."

"Well, I'm not. Just give me the numbers, and try to do it professionally."

"As you wish." Raski pointed to the mass of foxes behind her. "As you can see, we've captured twenty-four foxes. We only lost three of our blade fodder in the fighting and killed seven of theirs, so I'd say that's a pretty good payoff."

"What have our soldiers found in the mine?"

"Slaves – mostly moles - just like the Ranger said. I don't know the exact numbers yet, but one of the minks said it must have been a little less than twenty."

Almost as if Raski's words had summoned them, a small crowd of bedraggled creatures started to filter through the mouth of the mine, all trailing severed hobble ropes in their wakes. Besides the moles, there were also two mice, three squirrels, and a hedgehog among them. Azrahai counted sixteen creatures overall.

Azrahai walked over as the slaves were being herded in a rough circle by the red-cloaked minks and fishers that had led them out. As he was looking the group over, one of them – a very young mouse child – called out to him.

"Are you rescuing us?"

The taller mouse next to him - presumably his older brother - elbowed him to be quiet, whispering sourly in his ear. "I wouldn't count on it; this looks like another pack of vermin to me."

"What are your names?" Azrahai demanded, pointing towards the two mice.

The older brother shot Azrahai a suspicious look. "You're the leader of this lot?"

"I asked you a question, boy. Don't make me ask again." Azrahai put a hard edge into his voice, hoping it would get him some cooperation before he had to resort to even less savoury measures.

Unfortunately, the older brother didn't seem particularly fazed. He only glared back at the red-scarfed creature in stony silence.

"You need me to encourage him, General?" Raski chimed in from behind Azrahai's shoulder.

Azrahai hesitated. He didn't want to resort to such barbaric tactics, but this mouse wasn't leaving him much choice; it would hardly do to appear soft in front of his soldiers. "If that's what it's going to take..." he finally relented.

Grinning and hefting her glaive, Raski stepped up to the two mice. With a practiced twirl of her weapon, she had the blade poised a hairsbreadth away from the younger brother's neck.

"Well, if he's not important enough to have a name, then I guess he's not important enough to keep alive..." she said casually, pressing the blade to the trembling little mouse's throat.

"No!" The older brother tried to make a lunge at Raski, only to be stopped as a nearby mink snagged the kicking and struggling young mouse in a headlock. "Get away from him, scum!"

"Then tell us your names, mouse," Azrahai said coldly.

"... Fine," the older brother answered, gritting his teeth rage. "I'm Farren, and he's Dustin. Now leave him alone!"

At a wave of Azrahai's paw, Raski removed her glaive from Dustin's neck and returned to her place at the General's side. With another wave, the mink soldier released his hold on Farren, dropping him in the dirt.

"Good…" Azrahai kept his tone distant and imperious, but gave an inward sigh of relief…

"I wanna go home!" Which turned into a sigh of resignation as the terrified Dustin ran crying to Farren's side and blurted out his desperate plea. Farren quickly clapped a paw to his brother's mouth, but the damage was already done.

"And where would 'home' be, little one?" Azrahai dearly didn't want to ask this, but he knew it was his duty. If these mice knew the location of another settlement, that would be valuable information for the Krimson.

Dustin stared up at the strange red-scarfed figure, clearly too frightened to say anything more. Farren answered for him.

"We lived on a farm a ways south of here. These foxes came and burned it down, but we want to go back and rebuild it."

Azrahai gave the mouse a doubtful look, but there didn't seem to be any particular reason to doubt that story. "If that's the truth, then-"

"Uhm, sir?" A meek, familiar voice drifted from behind.

Azrahai turned to see Nihil standing there nervously. "Is there a reason for this interruption?"

The fox gulped and nodded. "He's lyin' sir. I 'member when those two got dragged in last winter. They didn't come from no farm; they were in a group headin' south on the path."

 _Just what I need…_

"Thank you for your honesty, Nihil." Azrahai did his best to sound pleased.

Turning back to the two mouse brothers, Azrahai saw Farren glaring daggers at the fox who'd spoken against him. He couldn't blame him.

"So would you mind telling me the _truth_ , mouse? Where is your home?"

Farren spat in Azrahai's direction. "I'd mind seeing you boil your rag-wrapped head, vermin!"

Azrahai massaged his temples through his scarf. "Raski, take these two away and keep them well-guarded. We'll have to put them to the question when we bring these foxes back to Castle Sarim."

Raski and one of the minks dragged the two struggling mice away from the rest of the group. Afterwards, Azrahai turned his attention to the remaining slaves.

"As for the rest of you, you will all be allowed to remain here – under the supervision of our troops – to continue working this mine as honoured servants of the Krimson Empire."

"'Servants?'" One of the squirrels spoke up this time. "You mean you're going to make us slaves again!"

"If you want to put it that way, yes. You will have no choice in this. But under the Krimson, you'll be treated with far more dignity than these foxes likely ever did, so I'd consider it a blessing."

"And what in the name o' spikes is the 'Krimson Empire,' anyhow?" demanded the hedgehog.

"It's simple; the Krimson Empire is the only hope of bringing true peace and order to the world." Azrahai turned his gaze over the entire unfortunate group. "And this entire region will be a part of it, willing or no."

 _And it'll happen whether_ we _want to or not,_ Azrahai thought bitterly. He couldn't help feeling ill.


	6. Chapter 5

The Krimson forces not assigned to garrison the village set off the next day. As Nihil tramped west through the woodlands at the back of the military caravan, he found that there was a bounce to his steps that he couldn't remember ever possessing before. For the first time in his life, he almost felt free. Of course, he wasn't _really_ free – he belonged to the Krimson now, and he was under no illusions about his new place in the world – but at least he wasn't in Hell anymore. And he was certainly freer than the paw-tied prisoners marching miserably ahead of him.

The cry of a hawk suddenly cut through the treetops from high above their heads, breaking into Nihil's idle thoughts. Moments later, Azrahai called out from the head of the caravan in a sharp, commanding voice.

"Halt!"

Before Nihil could properly register the command, he ended up crashing into Vatcha from behind.

"Whoah there, soldier." The vixen laughed as she steadied him on his paws. "No need to go trampling your comrades."

Nihil watched as the soldiers and their prisoners ground to a stop around him. "Why're we stoppin'?"

"Didn't you hear the redtail's signal?" Vatcha pointed west. "We're getting close to the treeline, and it's almost sundown; it's time to make camp for the night."

Peering upwards, Nihil noted that the few tiny patches of sky that could be seen through the thick forest canopy did indeed appear to be darkening. He then looked around him, noticing for the first time that the trees here did indeed appear to be thinner than the one behind them; he'd been so preoccupied with how good he felt that he hadn't even noticed. Up ahead, Nihil saw a mink – who he presumed to be a forward scout – run up to Azrahai. Nihil couldn't hear the words they exchanged from where he was, but when they were done conversing, Azrahai called for the caravan to continue their march. The mink led them farther west and slightly to the south, straight into a large woodland clearing; the perfect place to set up camp.

Roughly two-thirds the soldiers in the caravan started up the task of pitching their canvas tents and building a fire pit. The rest stood watching over the huddled prisoners, while General Azrahai and his officers paced about supervising the whole camp-making process. Most of the canvas tents were small, arranged in a series of circles running through the woodlands just beyond the clearing, serving to both create a perimeter and to corale the prisoners inside. Azrahai's spacious officer's tent was set up next to the fire, near the camp's heart.

Watching Azrahai moving among his soldiers, Nihil was struck by how much smaller the General was than the soldiers he commanded. Back in the village longhouse, he'd seemed larger- than-life, but out here it was clear that the red-furred creature was at least half as tall as most of the creatures around him. To that end, Nihil still wasn't sure what sort of creature the General actually _was_. He'd tried asking Vatcha about it the same way he'd asked her about all the other unfamilar species he'd seen thus far, but she'd declined to answer, saying simply that she didn't know what the Krimson are, and that she wouldn't be allowed to tell him even if she did know.

Nihil turned away, shaking his head and trying to put the matter out of his mind. No need to rock the boat here by asking the wrong questions; if the Krimson could offer him a bearable future, it hardly mattered what they were.

Since he wasn't a soldier yet, Nihil wasn't required or even allowed to join in the camp-making chores being performed around him. But neither was he under the heavy restrictions of the prisoners. As a result, he had largely free reign to move about so long as he didn't get in anybeast's way.

His idle wandering brought him before the group of the foxes that had once been his tribe, sitting miserably in the loamy soil. An angry and familiar voice called out from the edge of the group.

"Oi, look! It's liddle Smutty, trampin' 'round proud as ye like, like 'e ain't betrayin' 'is own mates." The speaker was Halek, who Nihil recognized as the fox who'd tripped him during the feast three days ago. Nihil's snout still ached, and it took a conscious effort to not put his paw to it as he glared at Halek.

"My name ain't 'Smutty' no more, an' I never 'ad no mates, so there!" Nihil stamped his footpaw and stuck his tongue out at the tied-up figure of his former tormentor.

Halek spat contemptuously at the ground. "'So there' yerself, smutnose. If I weren't sittin' 'ere all tied up, I'd put yer face in the dirt again!"

In his rage, Nihil's paw shot up to the hilt of the falchion strapped to his back. He was fumbling to draw the blade when a strong set of paws grabbed his own from behind. He found himself being spun around to see the slightly exasperated face of Haskil the coyote.

"Are you the General?" Haskil asked matter-of-factly.

"Err…" Nihil shuffled and fidgeted nervously. "No…"

"Well then you don't get to decide who gets executed, do you?" Haskil released his hold on Nihil, waving at the young fox to step aside with a dismissive paw while massaging his brow with the other. "Just… stand aside, and try to avoid killing anything that you're not supposed to kill, no matter how many petty insults it throws at you."

Haskil whirled on Halek, drawing his short-shafted glaive from the holster on his back and pointing it at the fox. "And you, instigator, what's your name?"

"Wouldn't yew like t' know?" Halek snorted at the glaive blade in front of his face. "Yer not the bossbeast either; yew can't kill me, so I don't gotta tell ya nothin'."

A sudden, brutal twirl of the glaive's hardwood shaft sent Halek flying backwards as Haskil explained the error of his ways in an even voice. "You're right; I can't kill you. But I _am_ still an Honor Guard to the Krimson, so I could knock all the rotten teeth from your insolent head if I needed to. Do I need to?"

Halek shook his head vigorously through the leaf litter as blood dripped down his brow. "N-no sir!"

"Then what's your name?"

"M-m'name's Halek!"

"'Halek,' huh?" Haskil sneered. "Well, _Halek,_ you prisoners were supposed to get something to eat once we were finished setting up camp, but I'm not so sure you deserve any with your attitude."

Haskil waited to see Halek's look of dread. None of the prisoners would have eaten anything since the caravan had set out that morning. Even then, they'd only been given a thin gruel and stale bread; the same sort of stuff the fox tribe had been feeding their slaves.

"What do you think?" Haskil turned to Nihil. "Does this fox deserve food?"

A smug smile spread across Nihil's face as he slowly shook his head. "Nope."

"Hmm." Haskil looked down at Halek, and back to Nihil. "We were planning on feeding them again in the morning. Does he deserve any food then?"

Nihil's paws clapped across his mouth as he giggled and vigorously shook his head.

"Well, Halek, it seems your disrespectful tongue has earned you no food until we reach Castle Sarim. Oh, don't look so disappointed; we'll _probably_ be there by sometime tomorrow." Haskil gave the unhappy prisoner a falsely reassuring smile.

"Can't we jus' ask the General if we can kill 'im?" Nihil chimed in. "Then yew won't ever 'ave to waste food on 'im."

Haskil barked with disbelieving laughter. "Ohohohoho! Oh, you're a bloodthirsty one, aren't you? Well, as fun as it would be to put this useless patch of fur out of our misery, I don't think that would be a very good idea. In case you haven't noticed, the General hasn't been in the greatest of moods lately, so it's best we don't bother him with anything that isn't of vital importance."

Nihil could see Azrahai across the camp, soundly berating an unlucky fisher who had evidently done a poor job pitching a tent, and he had to agree that asking permission for some petty revenge probably wouldn't pan out well.

Still, looking at the General again and comparing him to the larger creatures he commanded left Nihil thinking…

"Err, kin I ask yew somethin'?" Nihil looked up at Haskil, one ear cocked at an inquisitive angle.

The coyote crossed his arms over his chest, his glaive held casually in one paw as he let out a sigh of resignation. "Sure, I'll bite; what do you want to know?"

"Well… now, I don't mean nothin' by this, but why're all these beasts followin' the Gen'ral? How come 'e's in charge?"

"That's an… oddly astute question…" Haskil raised a curious eyebrow. "Where is this coming from, exactly?"

"It's just, all these vermin are so big, and he's so…"

"Small? Tiny? Pint-sized?" Haskil finished which a sly smirk on his face.

Nihil looked down uncomfortably, but Haskil slapped him heartily across the shoulders and laughed.

"Hah! Don't look so skittish. It's a fair enough thing to wonder about, especially if your only frame of reference is that mangy brute you called a father. But size and strength aren't the only things that make a leader."

"So, wot is it that makes 'im the leader?"

"First correction; Azrahai isn't our sole 'leader.' He's a General, so he's in charge of most of our military here, but his father Zenik is the Regent; he's the one who really runs the show in this region. But even the Regent isn't the leader of _all_ Krimson; that would be Emperor Azada." Haskil closed his eyes and scoffed. "It's all _very_ complicated, just how the Krimson like things."

"So there's an... Emp'ror? Where's he?"

"Over a thousand leagues west of here, across the ocean. But you weren't just asking _who's_ in charge, you were asking _why_ they're in charge, correct?" Haskil waited for Nihil's nod before continuing. "Well, the Krimson are smarter than most other creatures, for one. Real 'big picture' thinkers. Plus this is just how it's always been, ever since the first Krimson Azura got nuzzled by a deer and received her magic powers."

"Err..." Nihil wasn't even sure which part of all that he should be more confused by. "Magic powers?" he inquired, deciding that was the most interesting talking point.

"Yeah. Before she conquered my ancestors, Azura walked into the Forest of Giants to receive a blessing from a great stag. She got some pretty useful gifts from that deal, and she passed them on to her descendants. The prophetic dreams they all have is probably the craziest one overall. But every Krimson also has deadly knife-thowing skills; sharp enough to clip the wings from a flying gnat. And I'm not even exaggerating there, because I've seen one of the General's sons do exactly that. Then there's the Red Script. It's this weird alphabet where every symbol is different, even if they're supposed to be the same letter, but every Krimson can both write and read it without even thinking about it. Here, I can even show you what it looks like..." Haskil held up his glaive, letting Nihil see the odd geometric glyphs burned along its polished wooden haft. Just as the coyote had said, each symbol was unique.

"Wot's it all say?" Nihil asked.

"'For blood spilled, penance. From the ashes, obedience,'" Haskil recited dryly. "Every coyote guard's glaive has that. Just a little something to remind us who we belong to."

"'Blood... spilled?' What'd the coyotes do?"

"Pssht... what _didn't_ we do? We're lucky Azura didn't just slit all our ancestor's throats and be done with it. But if you really want to know the full story of what happened back then, you can just read a book about it on your own time once we get to Castle Sarim."

"But I dunno 'ow to read," Nihil protested.

Haskil rolled his eyes in a way that suggested he wasn't particularly surprised by that revelation. "Then you'll have to learn. Can't be an illiterate if you plan to be anything more useful than blade fodder."

"Wot's 'blade fodder?'"

"That's what we call the cast-offs used to pad the ranks and hopefully _die_ in place of any actually valuable creatures. It's what most of your 'kin' here are probably going to end up becoming." Haskil pointed over his shoulder, towards the huddled masses behind him. "You seem to be the only one with any hope of getting to be a _real_ soldier."

 _A real soldier..._

Nihil tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword as excitement swelled in his heart.

"But maybe don't look too pleased with yourself, yeah? The training is rough business; you're most likely going to die or wash out, _especially_ if the General's plan is to try and make you a Ranger like I'm afraid it probably is." Haskil shrugged. "But then that's _your_ problem." With that, he turned and started walking away, waving one casual paw behind him as he went. "Now, if you don't mind, I've got more important things to do than babysitting. Try to not cause anymore trouble."

Alone, Nihil looked down at his sword. He gripped it tighter still, filled with determination. He wouldn't die _or_ wash out. He refused. He would train as hard as he needed to become a Ranger just like Vatcha. One day he'd be the strongest warrior the Krimson had.

And this sword that would take him there... Sometimes he still couldn't believe it was really his.

It might very well have been the most beautifully-crafted weapon he'd ever laid eyes on. Its grip was wrapped in black-dyed ray skin, its curved silvery cross-hilt carved with sharp geometric patterns. Its round silver pommel was etched with the stylized face of a black fox with polished red gemstones for eyes; just looking into those shining, angular eyes sent a strange chill down his spine. For how old and well-used the sword was, its broad single-edged blade barely had a scratch on it, and it was perfectly razor sharp, though Nihil had almost never seen his father bother to sharpen it.

Often he wished he knew more about its origins, or what its real significance was, but all he could ever gather was that it had originally belonged to his mother, a beautiful silver vixen named Malserva. Then, when she died, his father had taken it up, and that had been that. Nihil had barely been old enough to remember his mother's face, much less ask her about it. All he could do was look at the strange weapon and wonder.

"There you are!"

Nihil nearly jumped out of his fur as Vatcha wrapped her arm around his shoulders from behind. He wriggled out of her grasp and turned to see her smiling mischievously at him.

"I saw that coyote giving you a talking-to; you're not making trouble already, are you?" she asked, crossing her arms and leaning towards him slightly.

"Uhh..."

"Hey, I'm not judging. It's like, what's the point in life if you're not making trouble every now and again, right?" She winked cheerily at him, before turning on her heel and gesturing for him to follow. "Now come on; they're about to serve dinner."

Not long after Nihil and Vatcha took their seats by the large campfire, a rather bored-looking fisher began passing out copper cups and wooden plates piled with maple baked beans, with chunks of skillet-fried cornbread on the side. Afterwards, a mink bearing a large pitcher went around filling everyone's cups to the brim with fresh spring water.

Nihil had been fed this same meal for the past two days. It was simple, homely soldier's rations made from the cheapest staple crops the Krimson had brought from their homeland. But compared to the miserable scraps he'd been forced to survive on most of his life, it still seemed like a sumptuous feast. He tucked into his food with a will, tearing pieces off his cornbread to dip into his beans, savouring every morsel.

Sitting beside him, Vatcha ate a lot more mechanically, and spent most of the meal talking animatedly between each bite. It felt a lot like the time they'd spent under the tree outside his old village, but this time Nihil knew she wasn't just trying to get something out of him. She was hanging out with him simply because she wanted to, and that thought filled Nihil's heart with a special joy he couldn't even name. When the call to sleep was finally heard, he nestled into his rough cloth sleeping bag with his head swimming with all the exciting possibilities the future held.

* * *

After night fell, General Azrahai retired to his tent. He gestured wordlessly to Haskil – who was standing guard nearby – to follow as he lifted the tent flap and stepped inside. The coyote obeyed, stooping low to follow his leader into the cramped space, letting the tent flap fall closed behind him.

"You want to spend some quality time with me, General? And here I thought you didn't like me." Haskil cocked his head to one side and smirked.

Azrahai shot him a sharp look as he started to unravel the long cotton scarf from his head. "Don't play games with me, Haskil."

"Alright, alright. No need to get testy." Haskil raised both his paws in a distinctly insincere apologectic gesture. "So, really, what's up?" he asked, raising one quizzical eyebrow and crossing his arms.

"I noticed you talking for quite a while with that young silver fox. What was that about?"

"Oh, that..." Haskil massaged his brow. "Mostly he just asked a whole lot of questions about the Krimson and how things work around here. He's a curious one, in both senses of the term. He also _really_ wanted to use that sword you gave him on one of the prisoners."

"And why was that?"

"A personal grudge, seems like. It was one of the other foxes we captured; some mangy oaf that calls himself Halek."

"Interesting... I'll have to keep that in mind. It might be useful for solidifying his loyalty down the line."

Haskil groaned. "You're not really thinking of making that cub a Ranger, are you?"

"If he can pass the training, yes. Why? Do you think he's unsuitable?"

"Oh, I don't think I'd go _that_ far. He's just some vindictive little fox who hasn't even been born to service, but I'm sure that when push comes to shove he'll prove _totally_ reliable."

"I understand your reservations, I really do, but we need to take every able fighter we can get on our side. There's no way we can take the south with just the forces we brought from Karminia."

"Ah, so allowing a few dubiously-reliable conscripts into positions of power is the key to beating back those big bad bunnies and shrews?" Haskil threw his paws out in an exaggerated shrug. "I'd never have thought of that particular tactic, but then you Krimson are the real geniuses here."

"Haskil..." Azrahai locked the coyote with an icy glare. "You are going too far."

Haskil closed his eyes and went silent for a few moments. When he opened his eyes again, his expression was uncommonly serious, and his voice held not a hint of sarcasm. "I'm only doing my job, by trying to make sure you Krimson don't get yourselves killed. And if there's one thing I've learned from those beavers, it's that the more complicated a machine gets, the more likely it is to break down. I'd imagine that's doubly so if the parts are scavenged and untested. You'd do well to keep that in mind."

Azrahai went silent for a long while, chewing the coyote's words over in his head.

"I see your point..." he said finally, "but the absolute reality is that we need more Rangers. Just during the last two skirmishes down south, we lost almost a dozen of our very best. We can't afford to keep taking casualties like that if we can't replace them."

"Rrriiight... because _that's_ how Azura conquered my ancestors; through evenly-matched forces and elite troops." But then Haskil placed a paw against his jaw in an exaggerated manner, as if he were suddenly very unsure about something. "Or, wait... was it actually that she had an extremely _small_ force of _untrained_ creatures who ended up winning through pure tactics and ingenuity? I always get so confused on that point..."

"Azura won the fight because her cause was _just,_ " Azrahai countered forcefully.

"Oh, is that so?" Haskil crossed his arms and leaned in close. "And your cause here is just _ever_ so just, isn't it, my Prince?"

Azrahai narrowed his eyes. " _Haskil..._ "

"Hey, don't get me wrong. I'm here to _serve_ , not judge. If you Krimson want to save the world by enslaving it, or _whatever_ it is you're trying to do, then I'm completely on board. Just, you know, as long as you're not _suicidal_ about it."

Azrahai massaged the side of his head to alleviate his growing headache. "Look... we are _done_ talking about his, Haskil. Just leave."

The coyote shrugged. "If you say so." He turned to leave through the tent flap, calling behind him as he ducked underneath, "I hope you know what you're doing."

Once he was alone, Azrahai found himself feeling suddenly far more tired than he should have been. As he nestled down into his sleeping bag, he tried to force Haskil's words out of his head, but it was difficult. Even he had to admit there was truth to them. It was indeed risky to let local concripts into the Rangers, the Krimson's elite military force. With all the privileges and responsibilities that position entailed, discipline and unflinching loyalty were the most important qualities of a Ranger; both things that had to be called into question in a creature who wasn't born and raised for that purpose.

But that young fox... When Azrahai had looked into his eyes, he could tell straight away there was more depth to him than the rest of the foxes in his tribe. When Nihil said he was grateful, Azrahai knew he'd meant it. Of course, he didn't expect to keep a fox's loyalty based on anything more than selfish wants, so what better incentive was there than sheer gratitude, especially when the Krimson could clearly offer so much more in the future?

Gradually, Azrahai drifted off to a shallow, though mercifully dreamless sleep.


End file.
